


Five Times Steve Had a Panic Attack (and One Time He Didn't)

by seradiss



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Torture, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 12:10:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3326804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seradiss/pseuds/seradiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has had panic attacks for as long as Bucky can remember, and Bucky has always prided himself on knowing how to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Steve Had a Panic Attack (and One Time He Didn't)

**Author's Note:**

> Most of my fics are written with the intent to please the audience. That's not to say that I don't enjoy them or that I don't love writing them, but they are written with the readers in mind. This fic I wrote entirely for myself as a way to help me cope with my own life situation. I hadn't intended to publish this story, but I decided that it is so important to me that I want it to be available to others. It has a huge amount of triggering material in it, so if you have any of the triggers mentioned in the tags, especially panic attack or self harm triggers, do not read this fic. I'm serious, it's a lot. For those of you brave enough to read on, I promise it has a happy ending! :)

1\. Steve’s foot taps insistently against the bare wood floor of their cheap apartment. He has a sketchbook open in his lap and a tiny stub of a pencil in one hand, but the page is blank. As Bucky watches from the doorway, Steve begins to tap the pencil sharply against the paper, making a clacking noise that seems much too loud for the small room.

 

  
Steve’s foot and fingers get more frantic by the second, and within a few minutes, he has put the sketchbook and pencil down and has begun scratching at his skin. His blunted fingernails make scraping sounds as they rake along the tender skin on the inside of his arms, leaving painful looking red lines in their wake. When his fingers disappear under the edge of his rolled up sleeve, a small circle of blood appears on the thin white fabric.

 

  
Bucky has known about the cuts on Steve’s ams for months, but he figures if Steve wants to talk about it, he will. Never the less, he pays very close attention to Steve at all times, hoping Steve won’t notice. Steve is headstrong and stubborn, and Bucky knows that he wouldn’t take kindly to Bucky obviously watching over him. Bucky decides that it’s finally time to act when Steve’s scratching opens more cuts and the blood starts to run down his arm to pool near his wrist.

 

  
“Hey, Stevie, calm down, buddy,” Bucky murmurs as he crosses the threshold and moves toward his best friend. Steve starts and tries to hide his bleeding forearm, finally tearing his gaze from where it has been riveted on the welts on his arm.

 

  
“It’s ok, Stevie, nothing to worry about,” Bucky says lowly, keeping his voice quiet and deep in his throat. He approaches Steve slowly, deliberately, watching for any sign that his advances are unwanted. He reaches for Steve, giving him time to move away or protest, moving his hands excruciatingly slowly when all he wants to do is wrap Steve up in his arms and rock him to sleep, keep him safe, protect him.

 

  
Steve doesn’t resist when Bucky’s hands land on his shoulders, doesn’t pull away when his hands slide up to the sides of his neck, rubbing slow circles into the tense muscles. Bucky kneels in front of Steve and slides one hand gently down Steve’s arm to where he’s still bleeding, one thumb sliding under his sleeve to rub just above the newly reopened criss crossing cuts. Steve's foot is still agitatedly tapping against the floor, and Bucky can feel his small body trembling, as if he is fighting valiantly to keep some horrible monster inside his body from escaping through the tears in his skin.

 

  
“Shh, Steve, it’s okay, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky whispers as he continues to caress Steve’s clammy skin. The low tones of his voice seem to calm Steve, or maybe just his presence helps, so Bucky keeps talking, murmuring soothing placations against the stagnant air of the apartment.

 

 

“It’s alright, Stevie, I got you,” Bucky whispers, keeping his voice soft. He continues talking, mostly just babble, because it seems to help.

 

  
Eventually, Steve’s foot begins to slow in its rapid movement and his head pitches forward, as if he’s no longer able to support it’s weight. His long fingers grip Bucky’s forearms and Bucky holds him close as his shaking slows and stops. His body slides forward off the threadbare couch, leaving Bucky to support his weight as he descends to the floor.  
They lay there together, Bucky propped against the couch with Steve boneless in his arms. Time passes, and it could be seconds or hours before Steve whispers a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

 

  
“Nothin’ to be sorry for, Stevie,” Bucky whispers back, his voice just as hushed.

 

 

2\. The girl Bucky’s set Steve up with is pretty, her red hair is curled and with her red lipstick and tight blue skirt she looks like a pinup stepped straight out of a poster. What’s more, she seems to like Steve, and is interested in what he has to say. Bucky is happy for him- or he at least tries to be. Girls don’t often take an interest in Steve (their loss) but when they do, Bucky always feels the same way: a hot flash of jealousy, a sharp stab of guilt, then cold, quiet resignation. Steve is a bright, beautiful person, and someday, somebody other than Bucky is going to realize that. Someday, a beautiful dame is going to fall in love with Steve’s thin shoulders and sharp wit and big heart, and Bucky is going to let her have him. Bucky is going to step aside and urge Steve to be with her, and he resigned himself to that pain long ago. Steve deserves that beautiful dame, and the life she can offer him; Steve deserves more than the secret, immoral life Bucky could give him. Getting away from Bucky and his unnatural thoughts would probably be the best possible thing for Steve, it might help him overcome the fits of anxiety that had plagued him for so long.

 

  
Steve’s girl- Bucky’s pretty sure her name is Mary Anne- giggles at something he’s said as the lights in the theater begin to dim. Bucky bites down the instinctual irritation, reminding himself that Steve deserves this. Steve deserves to be happy.

 

  
Bucky turns his attention back to his own date, Betty, only to be met with a glare. She must think he’s interested in Mary Anne. If only things were that simple; if only Bucky could muster up desire to be with Betty, her blond hair falling over pale shoulders in waves, or her friend Mary Anne in her bright red lipstick. They’re both beautiful, and Bucky likes the idea of taking Betty out behind the dance hall and necking just fine, but she is not the blond he wants to wake up to every morning and go to sleep with at night. It’s not Betty’s hair he wants to comb his fingers through while he whispers sweet nothings, not her hand he wants to hold, not her face he wants to see for the rest of his life.

 

  
Bucky puts his arm around Betty’s thin shoulders, hoping to rectify his earlier negligence. For most of the picture everything seems fine; Betty leans contentedly into Bucky’s broad shoulder, happy as a clam now that he’s giving her all his attention, and Bucky does his best not to be distracted by Steve’s presence on his other side, and for a while everything seems normal. When Bucky catches movement out of the corner of his eye, he turns his head as a reflex. He doesn’t expect to see Mary Anne edging herself onto Steve’s lap and kissing him. Bucky turns his eyes resolutely forward, training them on the film and doing his best not to think about a pretty redhead kissing Steve.  
He’s almost succeeding when he feels Steve shift, gently pushing Mary Anne off of his lap and standing to leave the theater. Even in the dim light Bucky can see Mary Anne’s confused expression and make out the tense shape of Steve’s shoulders as he slides past him to leave the theater. Bucky sands from his seat as well, carefully untangling his limbs from Betty’s before rushing after Steve (doing his best not to look like he’s rushing after Steve.)

 

  
As Bucky’s eyes adjust to the much brighter light of the lobby, his eyes scan frantically for Steve, not finding him anywhere. He panics for a moment before he catches the muffled sound of wheezing from a nearby janitor’s closet. Bucky looks around surreptitiously before opening the closet to find Steve on the floor with his legs pulled up to his chest, rocking slowly back and forth and struggling to breathe.

 

  
Bucky quietly closes the door behind him and kneels next to Steve, who all but throws himself into Bucky’s arms. Bucky can hear Steve’s lungs rattling and can feel warm tears fall on his neck where Steve has pressed his face. It’s humbling to see Steve this way. Steve, who is constantly putting on a brave face for the world to see; Steve, who is always so strong, so stubbornly clinging to life. To see Steve fall apart breaks Bucky’s heart, but it also makes him feel accomplished, important, that he- and only he- is allowed to see Steve like this.

 

  
This time, Bucky doesn’t talk, he simply holds Steve in his arms, slowly rubbing circles into his back with one hand and stroking Steve’s soft, golden hair with the other. Steve’s breathing gradually slows and evens out, and the tears stop hitting the exposed skin of Bucky’s neck.

 

  
“I’m so sorry,” Steve whispers, his voice loud and sudden in the darkness.

 

  
“Like I told you before, Stevie, nothin’ to be sorry about.” Bucky’s voice sounds husky, even to his own ears, and he hopes Steve can’t tell that he’s close to tears, himself. It tears him up inside to see Steve like this.

 

  
After a few moments of exhausted silence as Steve composes himself comes Steve’s whisper of, “we should get back to the girls.” Honestly, Bucky doesn’t give a damn about the girls, what he cares about is Steve.

 

  
“We can go back whenever you’re ready, and I’ll tell them I’m not feelin’ well so we can skip dancing after.” Steve sighs in relief, but he can see it mingle with guilt and regret in his eyes as Steve pulls him tighter for a moment before standing and brushing off his clothes, adjusting his suspenders. Bucky can see him sliding on the veil of confidence he wears for the world, watches second by second and it slips into place and all his previous vulnerability vanishes.

 

  
“Thank you.” Steve whispers before opening the door, glancing around, and disappearing back toward the theater.

 

  
By the time Bucky whispers, “any time,” Steve is already long gone.

 

 

3\. Bucky is dirty and sweaty and stinking of the sea when he gets home from his job at the docks. He usually returns home to the tiny apartment that he shares with Steve to find dinner- whatever they can afford, rarely anything exciting- and a smile from Steve. When he comes home to a dark and seemingly empty apartment, it usually means that Steve is sick. Or hurt.

 

  
“Damn it, Steve,” Bucky curses quietly before heading to the bathroom to look for the first aid kit. He hopes they have some supplies left over from the last time Steve fell ill or got into a scrap, because he would have to pick up extra shifts at the docks to afford more. He hates to leave Steve alone for any longer than necessary.

 

  
His mind is so preoccupied that he almost doesn’t notice Steve sitting on the couch with a blank expression on his face.

 

  
“Hey buddy, what’s wrong?” Bucky asks, reaching for the light. Once the room is illuminated, Bucky can see the red ringing Steve’s eyes, and the fresh bandage wrapped around his left forearm.

 

  
“You’ve been drafted; a notice came in the mail this afternoon.” Steve’s voice sounds hollow and defeated like Bucky’s never heard it before. Bucky is so concerned about Steve that it takes a few moments for his words to register.

 

  
Drafted.

 

  
That would mean leaving Steve here alone with no reliable source of income and nobody to take care of him. That would probably mean tasking Steve with his funeral when Bucky almost inevitably returns in a body bag.

 

  
The silence filling the apartment is oppressive, heavy, and all Bucky wants to do is be able to tell Steve that it will be alright. But he can’t, not this time. This time, things are undeniably not alright.

 

  
“Steve…” Bucky starts, not sure how he intends to finish. Before he can muster up the fake bravado to assure Steve that they’ll be fine (even if it’s a lie) Steve cuts him off.

 

  
“You’re leaving, Buck, and I can’t go with you. Please don’t tell me that it will be ok when we both know that it won’t.” Steve’s voice is hard, cold, but his eyes are glassy and heartbroken. Hopeless. Bucky watches as Steve stands, walks out of the tiny living room and locks himself in the even tinier bathroom. Bucky doesn’t know what to do. He wants to go to Steve, to comfort him, but for the first time ever, he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know what Steve needs, and it leaves him feeling lost, unbalanced. Knowing Steve has always been the one thing he is really and truly good at.

 

  
He settles for slumping down with his back against the firmly closed bathroom door. They both know that Bucky could break the door down if he tried, but he doesn’t try. He just sits silently with his back to the wall- both metaphorically and literally- and listens to Steve sobbing quietly on the other side.

 

  
When it gets quiet inside the bathroom, Bucky calls Steve’s name quietly. When he receives no reply, he turns to the door and calls again, louder.

 

  
The door opens slowly to reveal Steve, tiny and shaking and dripping blood from three fresh horizontal slices on his left forearm. Bucky unbuttons his shirt, pulls down his suspenders and removes his undershirt, pressing the thin white fabric to the wounds. Though it’s not sterile, it’s the best he can do at the moment. He meets Steve’s eyes for a moment, then pulls him in close.

 

  
“Why do you do this, Stevie?” Bucky’s whisper is hoarse, cracking with unshed tears.

 

  
“I don’t know.” Steve starts. “I feel like I have bugs crawling around under my skin and I get so overwhelmed and seeing the blood flowing just...calms me down. Lets the tension out. Keeps me grounded. I need it.” Steve is still shaking but his voice is steady.

 

  
“One day you’re going to take this too far and really hurt yourself, Stevie.” Bucky says it as a warning, but it comes out sounding like a prayer. He prays for Steve to be safe without him. It’s a strange thought, foreign to him. It’s never crossed either of their minds that there could be a day when they’re no longer together.  
The silence stretches on and on until Bucky feels Steve square his shoulders, take a deep breath and look up, meeting his eyes.

 

  
“I love you.” It’s said flatly, not like a request or an invitation, more like an engraving on a tombstone. It still short circuits Bucky’s bain for a few seconds. “I just need you to know before you leave.” Steve doesn’t say “in case you don’t come back,” but Bucky knows it’s there.

 

  
Bucky is still too shocked to say anything by the time Steve lowers his face and steps away.

 

  
“Well, you didn’t hit me, so I guess that’s something,” Steve sounds sad, disappointed, but not surprised.

 

 

Bucky suddenly snaps out of his daze, coming to his senses long enough to realize that Steve has just confessed to him, and now thinks that he’s been rejected. Bucky never wanted this life for him, an invert’s life, but he can’t stand to hear the pain and resignation in that voice, so he does the only thing he can think to do. He kisses Steve Rogers.  
Bucky gently cups Steve’s face in his hands, giving him plenty of opportunities to pull away, to change his mind, to say it was all a misunderstanding. Steve doesn’t take any of those opportunities. He just leans into Bucky’s hands and lets himself be kissed. He kisses back after a moment, smoothing his hands down Bucky’s bare shoulders to rest on his chest.

 

  
After a few more moments, Steve pulls back.

 

  
“I didn’t think you-” Bucky starts at the same time as Steve says “I wasn’t expecting-” Both break off , staring wide-eyed at each other.

 

  
“I had no idea you would do that. I wasn’t expecting anything. I just wanted you to know….” Steve stutters out, blushing furiously. “You don’t have to do anything just because you think it’s what I want.”

 

  
“No, no no no. I have loved you forever, Steve. I didn’t think you felt that way…” Bucky replies, looking away, all charm and finesse thrown out the window when it comes to Steve.

 

  
“We’re a damn mess,” Steve laughs, resting his head on Bucky’s chest. “Do you mean it?” he asks a moment later, not looking up into Bucky’s face.

 

  
“That I love you? Of course I do, Stevie, have I ever lied to you?” Bucky’s reply is immediate, all coyness gone now that everything has been brought out into the open.  
“Say it again,” Steve whispers, sounding desperate and close to tears.

 

  
“I love you, Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky whispers back without hesitation. Now that it’s been said the floodgates are open and he’ll take every opportunity to say it again. He hopes that his last words will be telling Steve that he loves him.

 

  
Steve surges up to kiss him again, desperate and hungry. They don’t stop until Steve’s knees hit the edge of the bed and they lose their balance, toppling over and laughing.  
“The letter said that you should report to basic in three days,” Steve says, and his face goes serious again despite the fact that he’s panting and blushing furiously.

 

  
Rather than reply, Bucky kisses him again, his lips lingering like a promise. Then he scoots up to the pillows, dragging Steve with him, and pulls Steve tight in his arms, closing his eyes and humming contentedly.

 

  
“You don’t want to do anything else?” Steve asks, sounding surprised but not disappointed.

 

  
“No, we’ve been through too much today. I’ll settle for kissing you and holding you in my arms,” Bucky keeps the “like I’ve wanted to for years,” to himself. “Save the rest for when we see each other again.” It’s as close to a promise as the can come at the moment.

 

 

4\. Bucky doesn’t believe that it’s really Steve who rescues him from Zola’s table; he assumes it’s a hallucination, just like all his previous visions of Steve have been. This is the first of his visions that has done anything other than kiss him and hold him and tell him he loves him… and sometimes suck his cock. This one is dirty and scared and looks at Bucky like he may break at any second. This one is also very different from how Bucky remembers his best friend, and Bucky hasn’t the slightest clue why his brain came up with a 6 foot something beefcake when it’s so unusual and unfamiliar and wrong.

 

  
As this figment-Steve somehow drags Bucky down hallways, Bucky is struck by how wrong it is that he still sees his Steve even in this Adonis who is so clearly not his Steve. He doesn’t allow himself to believe that the smoke clogging his lungs and the flames licking at his skin and the man running next to him are real until they hit the treeline outside the HYDRA base. Escaping men and pursuing HYDRA agents can be seen and heard running through the underbrush, but as soon as they’re covered, Steve skids to a halt and pulls Bucky down into the bushes with him.

 

  
This is the Steve that Bucky remembers: curled in on himself, clutching onto Bucky’s shirt like a lifeline, struggling to breathe. This Steve he can handle, at 99 pounds or 300. Bucky still has no idea what’s going on, or if any of this is even real, but even half conscious and delirious, his need to protect Steve Rogers is strong. It comes to him like muscle memory, comforting in its familiarity, if Bucky doesn’t think too hard about the specifics.

 

  
He holds Steve close, collapsing with him, drained of energy. They lie together, huddled in a bush 200 miles over enemy lines, and it is the happiest Bucky can ever remember being. Bucky still isn’t convinced this isn’t a dream, that he won’t wake up any second mumbling his name, rank and serial number to numb the pain of needles and knives and probing hands. But if this is a dream, then it’s the best damn dream he’s ever had, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to let it go to waste.

 

  
Bucky pulls Steve’s face up to his (complete with newly defined jawline and cheekbones chiseled by strong bone structure rather than malnutrition,) and as soon as their eyes meet they’re kissing. They kiss like drowning men, like star-crossed lovers, like movie stars, and not a thing like inverts, sneaking looks over their shoulders and keeping one eye open. The kiss is reckless and desperate, and it’s strange to have a Steve so different from the one he knows. He hasn’t memorized the lines of this Steve’s body, or the curve of his jaw, or the wide expanse of his chest, but Steve kisses the same. Steve still kisses like the second their lips part, Bucky will disappear. Bucky hates to have proved him right the last time.

 

  
When they pull apart, Bucky rests his forehead against Steve’s and sees that Steve is crying. He tastes his own tears when he swipes his tongue over his lips. They both breathe raggedly, but for the first time, Bucky can’t hear any wheezing and rattling from Steve’s lungs.

 

 

5\. After everything, the Soldier still knows only three things: he knows Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers says his name is Bucky, and Bucky is in love with Steve Rogers.  
Bucky has been on the run for weeks, dodging SHIELD and HYDRA agents (easily) and staying out of Steve’s reach (significantly less easily.) As the Soldier, Bucky had never needed to wrestle with emotion. Everything had been black and white, that’s the target, now shoot and then nothingness. Bucky has no idea how to process guilt, loneliness and least of all, love.

 

  
As the days go by he gets flashes of what are probably memories. As the nights go by, those probably-memories haunt his dreams. He is equally likely to wake up screaming from seeing a tiny Steve get beat up behind a diner or from watching the look of shock and horror on a victim’s face as he puts a bullet in their brain.

 

  
He moves every night, wears disguises whenever he goes out. He doesn’t do anything, he just lets himself remember. He can’t remember the last time he got to choose when to eat or sleep or, for that matter, exist in a conscious state. His surroundings seem strange and confusing, but it seems that everything leads him towards Steve.

 

  
Bucky finds Steve’s new house the night he returns from the hospital. Bucky tries very hard not to think about who put Steve there. He spends all night on the roof of the neighboring building, just watching, listening. He knows somewhere deep in his bones that this behavior is not normal- assassin training aside. It doesn’t stop him from coming back the next night, or the night after.

 

  
One night, as Bucky crouches on his solitary perch, watching Steve, he notices a break in pattern. Usually, Steve returns from the VA between 8:13 and 8:22, and immediately changes out of his jeans and into flannel sleep pants; he then makes himself dinner and sits on his (rather ugly, in Bucky’s opinion) couch to watch the news; he showers at 9:45 and lays down to read at 10:00; he never goes to sleep after 11:00. Today, Steve returns at only 7:42, and slams the door behind him. Unable to disarm his extensive training, he calculates that Captain Rogers is emotionally compromised and will be at least 20% easier to take down because of that. Those thoughts flash through his brain and are ignored in favor of a strangely familiar ache in his chest he can’t identify. Steve slides down the wall to land on the floor with his head in his hands. Bucky knows that he needs to stay away, but every fiber of his being is screaming with the need to go to him, to protect him.

 

  
Bucky uses his special skill set to silently enter Steve’s home through the bathroom window. He finds Steve exactly where he left him: curled up on the floor struggling to breathe. Bucky hesitates for a moment, confused and lost and completely unsure how to handle this situation.

 

  
In the end, he turns his brain off as best he can and lets his body remember how to comfort Steve. Steve falls into his arms without thinking, then jerks back when his brain catches up. Their eyes meet- Steve’s red rimmed and Bucky’s underscored with heavy dark circles- and an unspoken agreement passes between them: Bucky will not hurt Steve and Steve will not try to make Bucky stay.

 

  
They sway back and forth together, no awkwardness left when their bodies are so used to exactly this. Steve buries his face in Bucky’s neck as his breathing evens out and Bucky pets the short hairs at the nape of Steve’s neck. He doesn't even think about it, never making the conscious decision, but his body knows better than he does what it is that Steve needs. Bucky’s brain informs him that there are 46 ways for him to kill Steve with his bare hands and 103 ways with objects he could reach without disturbing Steve. Bucky stops thinking after that.

 

  
Bucky stays until Steve is asleep in his arms, then he carefully carries him to his bed. After Bucky leaves the apartment- with Steve safely tucked in- he returns to his vantage point on the opposite roof. He waits there all night making sure Steve is alright, then spends the next week struggling to figure out why.

 

 

+1. When Steve opens the door, he’s wearing ragged sweatpants and a soft-looking SHIELD tee shirt that appears to be at least two sizes too small. He looks comfortable and at home and like he belongs here, and for a split second Bucky considers dropping the plan and bolting because if he’s sure of one thing, it’s that he does not belong here.

 

  
He stops mid-backward step, his body freezing in it’s already begun flight when he meets Steve’s eyes. They’re every cliche Bucky can think of: a field of cornflowers, the sky on a cloudless day, the sea after a storm. But they’re worth so much more than those tired old descriptions; Steve’s worth so much more. Steve’s worth so much more than tired old Bucky Barnes. Steve deserves someone who will tell him that his eyes are the color of crushed precious gems and butterfly wings. Bucky knows what color Steve’s eyes are, down to his very bones he remembers them, but he can’t seem to make his mouth work properly. That’s always been his problem.

 

  
To say that Steve looks surprised would be like saying that the sun is hot: completely true but such an understatement that it almost becomes a fallacy. Steve’s plush, pink lips are open, his eyes bulge and his hand is frozen in midair halfway back from the door. Friends reruns blare from the TV in Steve’s living room. Neither of them move.

 

  
“Bucky I-” Steve starts at the same time that Bucky says “I wanted to-”

 

  
Bucky glares down at his well worn sneakers. Why can’t he do this properly? Why won’t his mouth work?

 

  
“I wanted to tell you that I remember. Not everything, but….enough.”

 

  
“Bucky-” Steve starts, but Bucky holds up a hand to silence him. If he doesn’t get this out now he’s never going to.

 

  
“I remember enough to know that I’m a monster, and that I’m in love with you.” Bucky struggles to breathe, struggles to speak, struggles to stay standing. He’s shown his hand and left himself vulnerable.

 

  
“Hey, hey. Calm down, Buck. You’re not a monster. No more than Bruce and Natasha and Sam and even me.” Steve’s voice is low and calm; he reaches toward Bucky slowly, waiting for permission. His friend from the VA has taught him how to handle someone having a panic attack. Bucky’s not sure if he’s proud or insanely jealous.

 

  
Bucky moves forward slightly, silently giving Steve permission to gently take his forearm and pull him into the apartment. He closes the door behind him, as if he had sensed Bucky’s previous thoughts about running. Not that a closed door would stop him.

 

  
Bucky senses that Steve is being careful with him, like a spooked animal, and he knows that at one point he would have been offended. He would have given Steve a firm- but not too firm- punch on the arm and a wise crack about treating him like a dame. As it is, Bucky is thankful for it; he needs the coddling because at the moment, he’s scared out of his mind. Steve could hate him, could turn him away, could turn him in to SHIELD, or worse, Bucky could hurt him.

 

  
Steve should be afraid.

 

  
Bucky should leave.

 

  
But he doesn’t. Steve gently steers him toward the ugly couch and, much to Bucky’s own chagrin, he sits. And he stays.

 

  
He panics a little, his anxiety mounting by the second until Steve gently touches his shoulder.

 

  
“It’s alright. Whatever made you decide to come here, it will be alright.” Steve’s voice is quiet and gentle. It’s the same voice that Bucky used to use on Steve when he had panic attacks.

 

  
These are the sorts of things Bucky remembers. Flashes, glimpses of things he can sense are important. He remembers trying to keep those memories when the brainwashing began. He remembers them disintegrating as it went on, from, “remember that when Steve has panic attacks, you need to speak and breathe slowly,” to, “remember that Steve has panic attacks,” to, “remember Steve.” And eventually, there was nothing left. Only cold then pain then propaganda then killing. When the mission was completed, it was back to the cold, and eventually, he didn’t remember Steve anymore.

 

  
Remembering is scary. Remembering isn’t safe. Bucky starts to breathe heavily, each gasp burning his lungs and getting caught in his throat. His eyes sting and his skin itches and the juncture of metal and flesh at his shoulder aches dully.

 

  
But Steve is there, warm, breathing slowly, touching his arm. Safe. Steve is safe and that’s what matters.

 

  
Without giving himself time to overthink, Buky launches himself into Steve’s arms. He remembers being held by Steve. He kept that; HYDRA couldn’t take that from him. In the cold and the dark before unconsciousness, he sometimes remembered being in Steve’s arms, warm and safe.

 

  
It still feels warm and safe. Steve doesn’t stiffen or hesitate, even for a second. He really isn’t afraid. He just holds Bucky and makes quiet shushing noises into his hair.  
Bucky’s training returns in a rush. He forces his breathing to slow, his heartbeat to drop. He is in every way poised for the kill, a machine in top working condition. But Steve’s voice brings him back, and when his vision returns to normal, he finds that he is nothing but tired. A deep kind of fatigue has settled into his bones, and he knows that sleep will not settle this ache.

 

  
When he leans up to kiss Steve, it is desperate and wanting and so very broken, but Steve understands. Steve knows what he needs and kisses him back, slow and sweet and full of love. Bucky knows that he doesn’t deserve this love, but he revels in it just the same. Steve still loves him- for some god awful reason- and while it is unfair and stupid of him, Bucky lets it warm his heart.

 

  
Steve kisses him with every ounce of the love he’s harboured for so many long years, motivated by every missed opportunity, every lonely moment, every crack in his heart, and Bucky can feel the love transferred through the kiss. Bucky grips the sides of Steve’s face, holding on for dear life, until after a moment, Steve lowers him down onto his back, leaning over him. All Bucky can see and hear and smell is Steve, and he is grateful for the bubble Steve has created for them. The outside world and the ghosts of the past cannot reach him here.

 

  
Steve continues kissing him, massaging his tongue and the roof of his mouth and nipping gently at his lips. Bucky kisses him back with vigour, urging him to go further, harder, faster. Steve grinds his hips down against Bucky, and Bucky can feel Steve’s erection through his soft sweatpants. Gasping at the friction on his own hard dick, Bucky arches up into the touch. Sweat begins to bead at the nape of his neck, and he blinks his long hair out of his eyes.

 

  
Steve groans low in his throat, almost a growl, and thrusts down again. He deepens the kiss, his tongue more forceful as it dances with Bucky’s own. Bucky whimpers quietly, luxuriating in Steve’s willingness to take control. Steve always knows what Bucky needs.

 

  
Steve reaches between them to pop the button on Bucky’s threadbare jeans, massaging his erection through the thin material. Bucky keens and thrusts up against the touch.  
“Let me take care of you,” Steve whispers, his voice husky with desire. He meets Bucky’s eyes, his pupils dilated so that only the barest hint of shocking blue remains. Bucky nods dumbly, unable to form coherent sentences. With Bucky’s approval, Steve pulls Bucky’s jeans down his thighs and removes his straining dick from his boxers. Bucky closes his eyes at the sensation of Steve’s big hands sliding along his length, and gasps when Steve’s mouth envelops him in warm, wet heat.

 

  
Steve’s tongue is devious, circling the head of Bucky’s dick and tonging the slit. Bucky’s eyes roll back in his head when Steve takes him deep into his throat, his tongue massaging the underside of his dick. Steve has definitely done this before, and Bucky is unsure if he’s jealous or thankful.

 

  
As Steve bobs his head, Bucky’s last thread of control snaps and he grabs Steve’s hair and thrusts upward into Steve’s throat. He retains the presence of mind to feel guilty, and he’s thankful that Steve takes it in stride and doesn’t cough or choke. Steve merely pins his hips down with one massive forearm and continues his ministrations, now taking Bucky into his mouth all the way to the root.

 

  
Just as Bucky thinks he can take no more, so close to release, Steve pulls away with a wet pop. Bucky can’t help his little whine of loss.

 

  
“We don’t have to do anything else, I’d be happy to suck you off, but I was wondering if you would rather….” Steve trails off, the blush that was already dusting his cheeks intensifying.

 

  
“Fuck me,” Bucky manages to get out, locking eyes with Steve. Steve’s blush deepens, but he nods and moves away toward his bedroom. He returns a moment later with a small tube and a foil wrapped condom.

 

  
Kneeling on the couch between Bucky’s legs, Steve warms a generous amount of lube on his fingers. He presses his index finger against Bucky’s hole, circling his entrance. He slowly presses the finger inside, allowing Bucky to get used to the feeling. Bucky gasps at the pull, but doesn’t move. Steve slowly works him, thrusting the lone finger in and out and massaging Bucky’s inner walls before adding another. Bucky flinches and Steve freezes, waiting for Bucky to adjust. After a moment, Bucky looks up, making eye contact with Steve and nodding, urging him to continue. Steve scissors the lubed fingers, stretching Bucky’s hole. After a moment, Bucky is adjusted enough for a third finger.

 

  
When Bucky is stretched and writhing against his fingers, Steve rolles on the condom and slicks up his cock. He looks up at Bucky, his pupils blown, his face flushed.  
“You sure you’re ready?” he asks, his voice husky with desire. Bucky nods once again. He’s so sure he ready. He’s never been more sure in his life.

 

  
Steve groans deep in his throat as he slowly slides home inside Bucky’s body. Bucky’s head rolls back and he can’t keep his eyes from closing, even though he wants to watch Steve’s face in ecstasy. Steve thrusts are long and slow and deep, each one stoking the fire burning in Bucky’s belly. Steve is clearly making a concerted effort to restrain the brute strength Bucky knows his body possesses.

 

  
Bucky wraps his legs around Steve’s waist, urging him to go faster, harder. Bucky wants more, can’t get enough. Steve’s thrusts get faster, and soon he is panting atop Bucky. Bucky surmises that Steve’s ragged breaths are more out of excitement than exertion, since Bucky has seen him do more physically strenuous activities without blinking an eye. Still, it’s satisfying to see Steve’s perfect facade dropped in this intimate moment. It reminds Bucky of how they used to be, before.

 

  
As Bucky and Steve rock together, the room heats up, the windows of the small apartment fogging with the intensity of their fucking. Steve’s thrusts speed up, becoming erratic, and Bucky knows that neither of them will last much longer. As Steve nails his prostate and nips at his neck, Bucky can hear him whispering quiet “I love you”s into his skin.

 

  
It is the sentiment that sends Bucky over the edge, all his muscles clenching and his head jerking back in ecstasy. Steve moans lowly, following Bucky a moment later.

 

  
Steve carefully pulls out, tying off the condom and tossing it in the direction of the trash can. He gently lays his head on Bucky’s breast bone, being careful not to crush him or make him feel trapped. Bucky feels so safe with Steve’s head on his chest, like nothing in the world can reach him, can hurt him, can remind him of all the evil he’s seen and done. For the first time in his- admittedly limited- memory, he feels safe enough to let go. To trust that he can rest and wake up safe.

 

  
He settles further into the couch, humming at the feel of Steve’s naked skin against his own. Steve now is so different from the Steve in so many of his memories, but he is still familiar, still safe. Always safe. When he came here, he didn’t intend to stay, but as his eyes drift shut with Steve’s large form nearly purring against his chest, he knows he doesn’t have a choice. Now that he’s tasted the forbidden fruit of Steve’s affection, he can’t go back to being alone. He resigns himself to wake up in Steve’s arms, and decides that he won’t run away anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> See, I told you it would be bad! But I also told you it would end happily, and I wasn't lying! If you want to talk to me about backstory and/or characterization of Steve and Bucky in this fic, feel free to leave a comment or message me on my tumblr all-about-the-booty.tumblr.com. I have a lot to say about this specific portrayal of these characters since this story is very personal to me. As always, please leave me comments, prompts and requests here or on my tumblr!


End file.
